


A Sense of Adventure

by junkshopdisco



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, winter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkshopdisco/pseuds/junkshopdisco
Summary: Colin gets snowed in with his secret boyfriend.





	

‘What’re you doing here? I thought you were on your way home?’

Bradley gestures to the eight inches of snow coating the pavement, says, ‘First flake fell and the whole city threw up its hands like it’s never snowed before. Train got cancelled.’  
‘You’re here to scrounge a bed, then?’  
‘Make it worth your while.’

Colin hadn’t wanted to say it, _can we do Christmas?_ so he shoots a thankful glance at the snow for gifting him a taste of it, anyway. Then, he grabs a handful of Bradley’s coat, pulls him inside, and kisses the chill off his lips.

***

‘What in heaven’s name is that?’  
‘It’s a sledge.’  
‘It’s a red plastic death trap, more like.’  
‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’  
‘Sold it on eBay,’ Colin says. Bradley pouts at him. Colin holds out for fifteen seconds and then folds with a tut. ‘All right, but if I die – ’  
‘It’s sledging in the park, Colin. _Kids_ do it.’  
‘Not at midnight, they don’t. Seriously, this is the last time I send you out for post-sex snack food.’

He hops out of bed and pulls on his jeans. Bradley’s wide, glee-filled grin makes the nip of the air almost worthwhile.

***

In truth it’s more of a bump in the earth than a hill, but on their red plastic death trap Colin swears they’ll hit 50. They’re not the only ones with the idea, and a little way off a bunch of pissed students are roaring at their mate as he slides backwards down the bump on a tea tray.

‘You ready?’  
‘No.’

Bradley launches them anyway, and Colin closes his eyes as his stomach leaps and the air races past his face. Bradley clings to him, laughing, and when they hit the bottom they capsize in a tangle of limbs.

***

‘Are you ready to admit this was a brilliant idea yet?’

Bradley blows on the hot chocolate he bought from an opportunistic kebab van, nudging the sludge-filled sled at his feet. 

‘All right, it’s been – moderately fun. I’m sure I’ll get over the frostbite.’

Colin’s fingers shake, red, on his tea. Bradley’s eyes dart to them before he digs in his pocket and holds out garish pink mittens decorated with kittens in reindeer antlers.

‘Here. I got them in a secret Santa.’  
‘What? I’m not wearing those – they’re ridiculous.’  
‘More ridiculous than frostbite?’

Colin sighs a cloud and takes them.

***

‘Suit you.’  
‘Shut up.’  
‘No, really, I think pink and kitsch is a good look on you.’

Colin drops the sled string at the top of the bump, glowers at Bradley in the dark. Even smirking he looks delectable. It’s a talent. 

‘Maybe I could knit you a matching scarf. And you’d be obliged to wear it because – you know – I made _effort_.’  
‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Bradley raises an eyebrow. Colin mutters _bastard_ , because he totally would. He leans down on the pretence of lining the sled up, grabs a handful of snow instead and flings it into Bradley’s face.

***

Colin flattens himself, breathless, to the tree. Nuggets of snow cling to the ridiculous kitten mittens and he presses into the bark, picking them off and listening for Bradley’s advance. It doesn’t come. He knows it’s probably some sort of cunning plan, but his last flurried attack was vicious, so he peeks around the curve of the tree anyway.

As Bradley squashes snow between his own palm and Colin’s face, Colin thinks that his hands hold an impressive volume. A chunk slithers down inside his jumper and his skin winces away from it, and Bradley’s laughter turns the air grey.

***

It starts as revenge. He rugby tackles Bradley, knowing without his willing participation he’d just bounce off. They land with an _ouff_ and the snow settles, rustling, on their clothes. Once they’re there, though, Colin can think of a million things he’d rather do than make him eat snow. He kisses him, slowly at first, and then with persistent mittens on his face, drawing desire out with his tongue. Bradley’s fingers inch under his coat in a coax that’s cold, but nice.

‘You want to go home?’  
‘Yeah. There’s plenty of places I’m willing to risk frostbite. My cock is not one of them.’

***

They don’t even make it out of the hall. They pull off enough of each other’s clothes to fuck, shove the rest aside to get their hands on skin. Bradley’s fingers are frigid on his hips; Colin’s burn with sudden heat and exertion as they pull him closer. He breathes heavily against the coats hanging on his wall, while Bradley mutters endearments against his shoulder and makes him bite his lip against a moan. It hasn’t been this urgent between them for a while, and Colin wonders if maybe it’s because this was a moment they weren’t supposed to have.

***

The sheets smell of sex and cold. Colin blinks at the clock until it unblurs.

‘God, how can it be ten already?’ He pulls the duvet back. Bradley rolls over, murmurs something that’s not quite a word. ‘I got to go shopping.’  
‘S’Christmas Eve.’  
‘Exactly. I need gifts. I always save it for today,’ Colin says. ‘I like the panic. It’s – exhilarating.’ 

His feet find the floor before his brain’s really ready, and he pulls fresh jeans out of the drawer because his others are sprawled in the hall like an outline at a crime scene.

‘Wait. I’ll come with.’

***

Oxford Street is frenetic. People slide on ice and leave gift-shaped bruises on their shins. Colin gets nearly everything in two shops and rewards them with gingerbread cookies and eggnog. They hover at a high table on the pavement, guarding bags penguin-style between their feet. Colin nibbles his cookie.

‘You eat like a squirrel,’ Bradley says.  
‘It’s the mittens.’  
‘I _knew_ you liked them really.’ Colin rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to confess it’s true. ‘When’s your plane?’  
‘Like, seven. What’ll you do if you can’t get a train?’   
‘Dunno.’ 

Bradley looks down, smiles, lost and trying not to let it show.

***

‘Put your finger there?’ Bradley does as he’s told, and Colin bites off a piece of Sellotape and fastens the wrapping paper. ‘I was thinking,’ he says. He carries on folding and tucking, like that makes it a smaller gesture, somehow. ‘I don’t know what I’ll tell my family – snowed in with my secret boyfriend, but – I’ll stay.’  
‘Really?’  
‘I wanted to do Christmas with you. I was just too chicken to ask.’  
‘Why’d you be chicken – ’  
‘ ‘Cos it’s Christmas. It’s – you know – _big_.’

He doesn’t look up, but he can sense Bradley smiling. He knocks the back of his hand with his knuckles as Colin fiddles with the gift.

‘If you’re staying, why are you wrapping?’  
‘I don’t know,’ Colin says, and laughs.

***

‘What’d they say?’

Bradley sneaks in, rests his chin on Colin’s shoulder as he hangs up.

‘They understand.’ He turns into Bradley, tugs his jumper. ‘I told them I’d see them at New Year – and if he’s free, I might’ve someone to bring.’ Bradley grins. ‘Just so you know, though, I’ve literally _nothing_ to eat. I might have tofu we can carve into a turkey shape but that’s as festive as it’s gonna get.’  
‘I don’t care.’   
‘Me either.’

***

Colin wakes to the nothingness of snow falling on Christmas. He’s alone. He sits up, thinking stupid things about Bradley finding a train and leaving, soundlessly. At the foot of the bed, though, is a crude stocking cut out of wrapping paper, the word _Colin_ scrawled on it in biro.

Inside is a half-eaten packet of chewing gum, a tangerine from his own fruit bowl, and a note that says _IOU 10 sexual favours of your choice_. He’s still grinning when the door opens.

‘Oh, you’re awake. I went to the shop.’  
‘Last time you did that you came back with a sled. What’d you get this time?’

Bradley crawls onto the bed. He has snow in his hair and an expression that says he’s supremely pleased with himself. He empties his pockets, lays everything in the hollows of the duvet.

‘Eccles cakes – substitute mince pies – turkey and stuffing sandwich for me – egg salad for you – and – ’ His smile breaks out and he presents the last one with a flourish. ‘Mini festive cranberry jellies.’ Colin’s laugh obscures the word _perfect_ , and Bradley looks at him with warm agreement. ‘You want to go sledging again? We’ll probably have the whole hill to ourselves.’  
‘Sure. Just give me five to get dressed and grab my mittens.’  
‘Really?’  
‘Why so surprised?’  
‘The other night I had to practically drag you there.’  
‘I found my sense of adventure,’ Colin says. ‘I think Santa left it in my stocking.’

The red plastic death trap shushes on the pavement as Bradley tugs it along behind him. It is sort of perfect, getting a gift he lacked the nerve to ask for. Colin grabs Bradley’s hand, and smiles a silent _thank you_ at the snow.


End file.
